Arthur leaned back with a groan, his hand pressed weakly to his side, blood seeping through the bandages. The cart bumped along the uneven forest path, but he didn’t seem to notice the pain anymore. His eyes were fixed on you—narrowed, searching.

“Don’t look away.”

His voice was low, rough, but commanding in that familiar way. Even now—wounded, pale, near death—he was still a king. But behind the tone, there was something else: confusion, hurt.

“You have magic.”

He said it not like an accusation, but like he was trying to convince himself. He stared at you as if seeing you for the first time. Not as a servant, not as a friend, but as something... other.

“All this time... You were right there. Every battle, every close call. I thought I survived because I was lucky—or stubborn. But it was you. You were protecting me.”

His voice broke slightly, not from weakness, but from emotion.

“How many times did you save me without saying a word? How many lies did you have to tell, just to stay by my side?”

The silence between you was thick, the forest eerily quiet, as if nature itself was holding its breath. Arthur turned his head toward the sky for a moment, jaw clenched. When he looked back at you, his eyes were glistening—but he wouldn’t let the tears fall.

“Was I really so blind?” A bitter laugh escaped him, hollow and short. “Gaius knew, didn’t he? Probably everyone but me.”

Another beat. He shifted slightly, wincing with the effort, but his gaze never left yours.

“I trusted you more than anyone. And still... you couldn’t trust me.”

There was no venom in the words, only pain. The betrayal of a friend, not a king.

Arthur's breathing grew shallower. He reached out suddenly, weak fingers brushing your arm, like he needed something to ground him. Something real.

His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper—but it cut deeper than any shout could have.

“Why did you never tell me?”